Breakdown
by Kits
Summary: Hogan has a nervous breakdown. Never going to be finished, I'm afraid.
1. Default Chapter

Hogan leaned against the side of the building, sighing deeply. He rubbed his fingers against his temples. How long? he thought to himself. In a fit of frustration, he pounded his fist against the wall. Tonight was one of his many rendezvous with the lovely Underground Agent he knew as Miss Muffet. This night, however, he learned that Americans had killed her parents, her whole family, in a bombing raid. With a bout of guilt, he remembered that he had once been part of those bombing raids. How many people have I killed? His thoughts turned as he glided stealthily through the dark toward Stalag 13. For nearly 3 years, he had operated an undercover covert operation in a German P.O.W. camp. Pushing his previous thoughts to a corner of his mind, Hogan allowed himself the luxury of humor. Of course, I wouldn't want to be late. The boys would kill me! The 'boys', as he had so nicknamed them, were his group of closest friends in the LuftStalag he lived in. Not to mention Klink! Klink, their bumbling German captor, was really nothing to worry about, but cautiousness was instilled in him; recklessness could get somebody killed-possibly himself. With a shiver, partly from the chilly wind that bit through his tan trench coat, and partly because of the morbid thoughts he had been entertaining, Hogan picked up his pace, and spared hasty glances from side to side.  
  
Suddenly, Hogan found himself about to walk straight into the sweeping arc of a searchlight. Shaking his head and berating himself for being so careless, the Colonel crept forward to the hollow tree trunk. With one more fleeting look around, he lowered himself onto the hanging ladder and disappeared into the darkness below.  
  
Kinch stretched languidly, trying to silence his aching muscles. Sometimes spending long hours at the radio was very tedious. His ears perked when a muttered curse drifted to the tired Sergeant from the tunnel entrance. Curious, Kinch stood and walked to the end. What he saw caused him to pull up short, and frown worriedly. His commander, Colonel Hogan, sat against the tunnel ladder, his face buried in his hands. Kinch's foot scuffed the ground accidentally. Startled, the Colonel looked up, straight into his concerned friend's eyes. His mouth opened, as if he were going to say something; then he stood and walked brusquely past Kinch.  
  
Kinch stared at Hogan's retreating back for a while, and then shook his head. He returned to the room slowly, puzzling over the last few minutes, and wondering what was wrong.  
  
Lying awake in the darkness of his small living quarters, Hogan pondered tomorrow. He had been resting, thinking, and mourning, when Kinch had startled him. Vainly he had floundered for an explanation, but seeing Kinch's worried face had told him enough.  
  
Even if I had an explanation, which I don't, he wouldn't have bought it. He sighed and shifted restlessly. At least it was Kinch. He could count on him to keep quiet, even though it also meant he would need an explanation, and soon. Kinch may be good at keeping a secret, but I wish he'd avoid confrontation! With a multitude of thoughts, none pleasant running through his mind, the Colonel fell into an uneasy sleep.  
  
Meanwhile Kinch sat in the tunnel, monitoring the radio with a strange absence of his usual diligence; his thoughts kept wondering back to the Colonel. With rational thinking, he decided to confront him tomorrow in his quarters. Should I tell the other guys? He thought to himself. But what if it's nothing serious? He knew it must be, though. The Colonel never lost his cool; he was always composed. A startlingly vivid picture appeared in his mind of Colonel Hogan slumped with his head cradled in his hands. With equal clarity, he recalled hearing a wrenching sob, and ragged breathing. No, something's wrong.  
  
Hogan awoke in the morning feeling discouraged. He had gotten very little sleep last night, and had to drag himself out of bed.  
  
At roll call, the Colonel seemed tired and distressed. Kommandant Klink paced back and forth, and all the prisoners groaned when they realized a speech was coming. All, that is, except Colonel Hogan. His eyes were glazed over, as if he were distracted. He certainly was not paying attention.  
  
In the back of Hogan's mind, he vaguely registered Klink's pompous drone. He tried to tune in, but all he could think about was the flood of guilt that washed over him. He, Colonel Robert E. Hogan, 3rd in his class, had killed people. All the bridges, plants, and bombing raids caught up with him, and his mind produced cruel images of people dying, and sounds of tortured screaming. How would it have felt, to die in a blaze of heat, without being able to say goodbye? Maybe some had survived, and lain there, with only the stars above to comfort them as they tried to ignore their agony. He flinched, and desperately fought to keep his thoughts away from such a painful subject. Instead, he tried to concentrate on what Klink was saying, but his mind refused to comply, and he couldn't remember what the Kommandant had said.  
  
"Dismissed!" he finally heard Klink call in his usual whine. Running his hand over his face tiredly, he trudged back to the Barracks. Once inside, he grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down. The other men talked amongst themselves, oblivious to their C.O.'s dark mood.  
  
With a sudden blast of cold winter wind, Schultz arrived.  
  
"Close the door, Schultzie!" LeBeau yelped when he felt the chilly gust.  
  
"What is it, Schultz?" Carter asked.  
  
"Big Shot wants to see Colonel Hogan," the corpulent guard informed Colonel Hogan, who nodded and slowly stood. Schultz warmed his hands by the stove before reluctantly following the man out.  
  
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Hogan questioned from where he was standing.  
  
Klink glanced up from his disorganized desk. The annoying, insolent, wise-cracking American usually barged into his office, flopped onto the wooden chair, threw his cap on Klink's spiked helmet, and stole a cigar from his humidor, but today he skipped the routine. Immediately Klink put up his guard. When Hogan changed his normal routine, it often meant that something strange was about to happen.  
  
"Yes, Colonel Hogan. I wanted to talk to you about the discipline of the prisoners," Klink began when he noticed Hogan's eyes were focused on the wall behind him, and he seemed to not be paying attention. He rarely did, Klink surmised, but it was never that apparent.  
  
"Colonel Hogan, are you listening?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Klink studied him closely for a moment, squinting through his ever- present monocle to examine his senior P.O.W. The officer had dark bags under his eyes, which were a glassy brown. His skin was a startlingly pale white, Klink noted. He doubted he had gotten any sleep at night.  
  
"Are you sick?"  
  
The American's face vaguely registered surprise at the question and his tone of voice complimented the expression as he quickly answered, "No, sir, not at all."  
  
Klink gave a mental shrug, and continued without another thought to the matter.  
  
Hogan nodded and made comments at the appropriate times, slightly annoyed at being called in to discuss such a trivial matter such as his men's behavior at roll call. Now why am I mad? he asked himself when he realized his irritation had nearly grown into anger. He's called me in before for less things and it didn't bother me then. Hogan shook his head to clear his mind. Klink was winding it up, finally.  
  
"Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir, I do." Hogan was shocked by his own voice. It was harsh and had a vicious edge to it. Klink stared at him with his mouth hanging open in astonishment before he snapped it shut and managed a stuttered "dismissed" that Hogan left in the middle of.  
  
Once outside Klink's office, Hogan paused. Normally he would never have spoken to his German captor like he had just now. Shoving his cold hands deep into the brown leather flying jacket he always wore, the Colonel began pacing the wire, walking the perimeter of the compound and letting the rhythm of his footsteps fill his mind. But instead of the peace and comfort he longed for, he felt instead voices chanting at him.  
  
Death! Death! Death! they hissed at him. He picked up his pace in an attempt to silence the accusations.  
  
Murder! Murder! the voices screamed.  
  
He suddenly stopped when he felt a hand drop on his shoulder. Spinning wide, he turned and pulled out of its grip. Panting, Hogan faced the owner of the hand.  
  
Kinch stood in front of him, looking unsure of something.  
  
"What's wrong, Hogan?" Kinch asked quietly, concern for his friend lacing his voice.  
  
"That's Colonel Hogan, Sergeant!" the C.O. sneered, and turned to walk away.  
  
"What's wrong, Colonel Hogan?" Kinch's reply floated to his ears.  
  
"Nothing. I'm fine," Hogan snapped without turning around. He closed his eyes, as if remembering some painful memory, and then sprinted away.  
  
Sergeant Kinchloe knew the Colonel was not okay, regardless of what he said.  
  
  
  
"Something's wrong with Colonel Hogan?" LeBeau repeated. Kinch nodded from the middle of Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau. He normally would not have told the other men about what he had seen and heard last night, but his confrontation with the irate officer today had changed his mind. After giving a detailed account of all that happened in the tunnel, and today, Kinch waited for advice from his three comrades. So far, they could only mull the situation Kinch had suddenly tossed to them through their heads. Some questions were ventured, and Kinch answered them fully, but none seemed ready to commit their advice on the matter. Except for Carter, who piped up with a shaky voice,  
  
"Maybe we should wait and see if whatever's bothering him keeps up. Then we can do something."  
  
Newkirk glumly nodded, feeling suddenly insecure in a place he considered almost a second home. After all, he had lived there for three years. The sinking feeling in his gut that began when he heard of Kinch's meeting with his Yank colonel deepened. He had a bad feeling about this entire thing, and his instincts had never failed him before.  
  
LeBeau wandered off to stir the soup he was cooking. The spoon lay in his fingers, twirling when he moved them. The little Frenchman was thinking about le Colonel. What was wrong with him? He had always counted on his commander before, and his belief in the man had not been unfounded. LeBeau pulled himself up, jutted his chin out, and stiffened his jaw. The Colonel had come through for France, and now France must come through for Colonel Hogan. He had a plan if something was wrong.  
  
Carter lay on his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The young man felt sick when he thought about what he had just found out. Colonel Hogan could do anything! When the odds were impossible, Colonel Hogan always found a way. Kinch must have been mistaken. Nothing could be wrong with Colonel Hogan.  
  
The man in question was currently pacing the compound, thinking only of his own thoughts. His interpersonal form of thinking was complicated and confused.  
  
You got Kinch worrying about you.  
  
Why shouldn't he? You snapped at him.  
  
I don't know why I did… he's just worried, that's all. Now you have him worried even worse.  
  
Nothing is wrong with me. I'm just thinking about her. I killed her family. She can't be more than 20. I killed her family. How many people? All those bridges… plants… factories… Soldiers just doing their job.  
  
You're just doing yours. You're a soldier, too.  
  
It wasn't meant to be like this…  
  
At a loss of what to do, Hogan stopped his relentless walking and sank to the ground by a building, shutting out everything and everybody for a while. He needed to be alone.  
  
The next few days were a blur for Hogan. He didn't know or care what was happening. Sometimes it was nerve-wracking. He felt like his men were angry with him. I didn't mean to kill them! I'm sorry! he would scream in his mind. He had started to avoid them, staying in his room for as long as possible. Remorse ate at him, and soon he came out for little other than roll calls, and even then he remained distant, his eyes holding an eerie hollowness. His appetite slacked, and he sat in the darkness of his room, seeking protection from unseen demons.  
  
"Something is definitely wrong with mon Colonel," LeBeau stated.  
  
Kinch nodded, recalling that his recent attempts to communicate with his normally active commander were met with irritability, apathy, or an extreme sadness in the Colonel's voice and eyes.  
  
"You know," Carter said, "one of us should ask him what's wrong."  
  
"I've tried," Kinch sighed. "It doesn't work."  
  
LeBeau chose that moment to tell the others of his plan. "There is a famous French psychiatrist," LeBeau started. The men started when the small corporal said 'psychiatrist.' Deep in their hearts, they knew whatever was wrong with the Colonel was mental, but none were willing to voice it aloud.  
  
"Wait!" cried Carter. "Colonel Hogan doesn't need some shrink!"  
  
"Carter, you've seen him. He's not sick, but he acts like it. He needs help from a psychiatrist," Newkirk comforted. "And we'll get the guv'nor the best there is."  
  
Carter mumbled something about mutiny, but by then they were discussing the psychiatrist and how to get her in the Stalag.  
  
"Madamouselle LeFay can come in through the emergency tunnel entrance," LeBeau explained.  
  
"And how is Madamouselle LeFay going to get into Germany from France, pray tell?" Newkirk asked sarcastically.  
  
Kinch waved his hand between the two men. "I have an idea."  
  
LATER:  
"Does everybody know what they're doing?" Kinch asked. Everyone gave vague nods, and the black sergeant sighed wearily. The blank faces staring back at him told him he had better review it again. "Ok, how about I go over it again." Everyone nodded enthusiastically at his suggestion, and leaned forward intently.   
"Ok, tomorrow at roll call, I'll give the signal. LeBeau, when you get the signal-you'll know what it is-you suddenly act very sick. But don't overdo it... Wilson, you take him to the infirmirary to check up on him, when you discover he has a rare disease, and must be quarintined. This will keep Schultz and Klink out," Kinch paused, thinking to himself, 'and Colonel Hogan'. Swallowing his words, he moved on. "Newkirk, you get into a fight with Wilson about not being able to see LeBeau. Make it big, make it loud. We gotta have Klink and Schultz think this is for real." Newkirk nodded his understanding, and Kinch gave him a grateful smile. "Ok, LeBeau, here's where you come in the second time. You wait until you know the coast is clear; we don't want any surprises. You'll come down the infirmirary tunnel," Kinch stopped when he noticed the blank faces returning. "Yes, we have a tunnel leading there. You'll go down it, and we'll have civillian clothes waiting for you. Newkirk, you'll have a motorcycle waiting for LeBeau just outside of camp, right?"  
Newkirk flashed a smile, and winked. "I'll steal it from the motor pool tomorrow."  
Kinch grinned a bit, then turned back to LeBeau. "You go to France, and find this Mademoiselle LeFay. No fooling around, Louis! This is important that this works. Now have you got it?" He waited until everybody had confirmed their understanding. "Good. Any questions?" Wilson spoke up.  
"Kinch, what happens when LeBeau gets back?" Kinch sighed, realizing that now he had come to the easy part.  
"You'll say that he got over his rare disease, he'll be unquaruntined, and we can get Colonel Hogan to see the madame." Everyone quieted at this, and didn't make eye contact with anybody. Broaching the subject was still unnerving, seeing as how they had idealized their commander for the past three years or so. The group disbanded, and wandered off, nervously awaiting tomorrow morning.   
Tomorrow came, and at roll call, Colonel Hogan appeared worse than before. His hair was disheveled, his chin had stubble, and he had dark bags under his eyes. The man stumbled out of the barracks, his ordinary grace lacking. Carter examined him, and finally admitted that what they were doing was best. The young man prayed fervently that it worked.   
"Hey! Schultz! You stepped on my foot!" Kinch cried loud enough for everybody to hear. Schultz turned around to apologize to him, when suddenly LeBeau started moaning horribly. The little Frenchman sank to the ground on his knees, holding his head as if in pain.   
Something just snapped. How else could he explain it? Newkirk was witnessing the whole thing, noting with some interest that a crowd had gathered around his friend, including Schultz and another German guard. So no one but he and Kinch noticed when it happened. Everything just stopped, for a moment, and one minute, Hogan was staring at the growing crowd with a look akin to confusion, and disinterest. Suddenly, his mind registered what was going on, and he rushed forward. Kinch and Newkirk darted forward, fighting to restrain the Colonel. Newkirk took one arm, motioning for Kinch to take the other. Colonel Hogan slumped in their grasp, being virtually dragged across the dirt to Barracks 2. There, they deposited him on his bed in his quarters. Frowning, Newkirk backed away, not wishing to take any more part in this then he had to. Kinch, on the other hand, made sure that Hogan was comfortable. The American colonel lay motionless, staring at the slats above his bunk, and moaning words quietly under his breath. He seemed blissfully clueless of his surroundings, staring into space as if it were hopeless for him to be living; Kinch caught some of the words he muttered, and his concern only grew for the man he had called a friend for all the time he had known him. The wide grin, charismatic charm, and cunning mind had made him a good friend for years, and now, he acted sick, mumbling something about a soldier doing his job. Shaking his head, Kinch closed the door, and walked out. There, Newkirk sat at the table, staring at something. The sergeant walked over to the Brit, worriedly.   
"What's wrong, Peter?"   
"The Colonel... that's what's wrong, mate," Newkirk answered with a bitter laugh. "The guv'nor! He snapped!" Kinch cocked his head, trying to understand him. "Don't you see, Kinch? Don't you get it?" Kinch's eyes narrowed. "I've never been strong enough to do it on my own. I thought I was being tough, gettin' into fights, but the Colonel was stronger. 'E didn't 'ave to fight. 'E was the strong one! And now 'e's not able to!" Newkirk's voice rose into a hysterical pitch, then dropped again, and he sat down, taking several deep breaths. " 'Ow are we supposed to do it alone?"   
"Peter... The Colonel's going to be ok, once he sees this psychiatrist. And you are strong. You've been strong enough to stand up to the Gestapo, and to work for this outfit. Colonel Hogan's always been strong for us, it's our turn. Now c'mon! We have to help him!" Kinch said. Newkirk nodded, then brightened a little. He jogged outside, ready to have his 'fight' with Wilson.  
"What do you mean I can't see my pal?!" the British corporal cried out.   
"He must be quantined! No one may see him!" Wilson shouted back. They soon were fighting quite loudly, making sure Schultz-who was standing nearby-heard every word. After he had determined he heard enough, Schultz hurried off to tell the Kommandant.   
  
AFTER SCHULTZ LEAVES:  
"Wilson," Newkirk caught the medic's arm as he tried to leave. "Tell Louis to hurry. The Colonel... The Colonel had a nervous breakdown or something. Only me and Kinch noticed, because LeBeau was putting on his show, but somebody's gonna figure it out soon." Wilson swallowed convulsively, then turned and walked through the door to the infirmirary.  
"I'll tell him," he said over his shoulder.   
IN KLINK'S OFFICE:  
"Herr Kommandant! The cockroach-I mean, Corporal LeBeau-is quarintined! The prisoner who is a medic says he has a rare disease! Oh, it is awful!" Schultz reported to his superior.   
"Thank you, Sergeant Schultz. Tell Colonel Hogan if he does not know already," Klink ordered, thinking about the entire situation in his mind. He would have to make sure all prisoners and especially German guards, stayed away from the infirmiary.   
After Schultz closed the door, he considered what Klink had said. No, he decided, I will not have to tell Colonel Hogan. He probably already knows.   
THAT NIGHT:  
LeBeau quickly changed into civillian clothes, and checked to make sure all of his papers were there. He would need them to get across the border. Hurrying through the woods, he dodged wayward tree branches, and protruding rocks until he made it to the road, where a motorcycle was parked. Perfect, he thought to himself, Now to go to France, and help mon colonel...  
  
Hogan stared at the planks of his bunk bed without interest. Everything crashed into him, and he felt he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Missions almost non-stop from London... the girl's family... and now this.  
  
He was so concentrated on his guilt that he failed to review what had happened. Questions that would have surely plagued him before, such as why had a crowd gathered so fast, and why Kinch and Newkirk lurked behind, when they normally would have been the first to see what was wrong, did not worry him in the least; his "sixth-sense" as the men jokingly put it that told him when something wasn't quite right, and his ever observant sight left him briefly, and he could only dwell on the scene that had occurred shortly before he had collapsed.  
  
**********************  
  
Kinch sat at the small wooden table and stared at his commanding officer's closed door with a frown on his face. How many times had Colonel Hogan sat in this spot, and invented a wild plan-which never failed?  
  
'That's probably what did it, James,' he thought to himself. 'He's been taking care of us for so long, and himself, of course he cracked.' Kinch winced when he realized his last phrase. He wasn't nuts, he just had a nervous breakdown. He sighed, and glanced at the door again. 'Help's coming...'  
  
***********************  
  
Help, it turned out, was much closer than Kinch suspected. It had taken a minimum amount of time for LeBeau to locate Madamoiselle LeFay, and he was currently about to enter her office. He stepped in, following closely behind the lovely woman, and admired the small room. A plush gray carpet padded his footsteps, and the walls were painted white. Multiple paintings hung on hooks scattered about the walls, and the Frenchman noticed a wooden desk with a lamp on it. The room was kept very neat and organized. He even watched, amused, as she glared at a smudge on the lampshade. Obviously a very meticulous woman.  
  
"Now, Monsieur...?" she trailed off.  
  
"LeBeau," he quickly intoned. Belatedly he cursed himself for giving his real name, but he was here, and already taking a great risk.  
  
"Now, what is your trouble?" she asked. LeBeau shook himself a bit, amazed by her ravishing beauty. She had auburn hair, which fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were an emerald green, and had a mischievous sparkle hidden within, though at the moment she looked very professional.  
  
"Madamoiselle, I do not have the trouble, but a friend," LeBeau explained, leaning forward to her desk from where he sat. She smiled a bit, and LeBeau realized suddenly that many of her patients must have blamed their own problems on 'a friend.' He sighed, and rubbed his temples wearily. "I really do have a friend, and I need you to come with me to help him," he hesitated, unsure how to inform her of his predicament without alarming her too much. Oh well, he reasoned, she must know, and she'll find out sooner or later. So he began the whole story.  
  
"My friends and I need you to come to Germany with me." She gasped and put a hand to her chest. "Please!" he begged, his whole face conveying his desperation.  
  
He was fearful, but he still came? Madamoiselle LeFay thought to herself. This friend must indeed be very important. He has no way of knowing if I'm a Gestapo collaborator, and yet, he still came.  
  
After a moment's thought, she answered confidently, "Monsieur LeBeau, I will go with you to Germany to help your friend." The man smiled with relief, and motioned for her to follow him out the door.  
  
"Come, we need to hurry!" he said urgently. She smiled at his haste, and followed as quickly as her legs would allow.  
  
"Monsieur LeBeau! Wait! I have no idea how long it will take to help your friend, and I must have something to wear during those days. I need to go to my apartment and gather my things," the psychiatrist explained with a smile. The vertically challenged, dark-haired, handsome man stopped and turned around. He sighed impatiently, and glanced at his watch.  
After a moment's thought, he sighed in acquiesance. "Alright. But hurry!" She gave him a grateful smile, that disappeared. She needed to buy time. 'This man could very well be leading YOU into a trap, Marie!' Her lips turned upwards a little in a worried smirk. 'You always do things before you think them out,' she scolded herself. Walking slowly, the woman headed to her apartment. 'How do I get out of this mess?' she fretted. Realizing her building was in front of her, Marie LeFay gazed at the structure in admiration. She loved Paris, and this beauiful building was an example of some of the architechture to be found in the city. Her eyes narrowed into small slits when she noticed the black car of a Gestapo parked outside on the street. Suddenly she realized.   
"Monsieur!" LeFay cried in desperation. He stared at her, bewildered "Monsieur, you must help me!"   
"Help you? What...?" LeBeau was completely confused. Distraught and worried, the woman pleaded for him to help her. What was wrong, he wondered.  
"I need to get out of France-NOW!"   
"Follow me," LeBeau grabbed her hand and ran to his motorcycle as fast as he could. Quickly throwing his leg over, and motioning for her to hold onto his waist, they sped off.   
"Halt! Achtung!" a German voice sounded. LeBeau thought quickly. 'Something's wrong here... if I stop, they will ask for papers. If I don't, they'll chase." Trusting his instincts, he accelerated, and more German voices broke the air.   
"Halt, or we will shoot!" another one joined in. LeBeau's palms were sweaty, and his heart was beating loudly in his ears. A shot rang out, and he stopped breathing for a second. Several more whizzed past, and he zig-zagged, hoping to avoid giving them a clear target. The plan seemed to work, for the next few bullets missed by long shots, and he looked behind to see the Nazis filing into their car. A small grin played upon his lips. 'They'll never catch me. I am much too far ahead.' So, with confidence, he continued at breakneck speed down the familair streets, losing the Gestapo quite easily. But he did have one question for the woman.  
***************************************************************************************************  
"Kinch?" Carter said. The radioman looked up expectantly at the fellow sergeant.  
"Yes?"   
"Shouldn't we tell London about... I mean, shouldn't London know..." Carter trailed off, looking confused.   
"Carter, I couldn't agree more," Kinch said. Carter looked at him.   
"But?"  
"But if HQ knows about the Colonel, they'll send him home, and I think he'd be better off around people he knows here. Besides, no new missions have come in, so," Kinch let Carter figure out the rest. He did, but still looked uneasy.  
"Wouldn't he be better off around his family?"   
Kinch peered at Carter. He had a way, like little children, of asking difficult questions.   
"I mean, aren't we being... selfish, almost, by not letting London know?"   
"Listen, we need the Colonel here. No one else can head this operation, you know that as well as I do. Look at what happened when they sent Colonel Crittendon here. If there's some way we can keep the Colonel here, and have him recover... well, then the war will be a lot shorter," Kinch explained. "Understand?"  
Carter nodded numbly. "Yeah, Kinch. I understand."  
  
  
"Who are you, exactly?" LeBeau stared at the woman. He had steered the motorcycle into the dense woods on both sides of the road after losing the Gestapo and heading closer back to the border.  
  
"I told you, I am Madamoiselle LeFaye, a psychiatrist," the woman stubbornly insisted.  
  
"The Gestapo were after you, obviously, so it's no use saying you are not in trouble. Why don't you just tell me the truth?" the Frenchman, however small he was, mustered an impressive glare which he settled firmly on the psychiatrist.  
  
She sighed deeply, and looked into his eyes. `Marie, you have done it this time!' Taking a deep breath, and hoping desperatley that he believed her, she said quietly,  
  
"I am a member of the Free French Resistance." She raised her chin in proud defiance, challenging him to shoot her. Instead of the bullet she expected, he grinned, and grabbed her hand.  
  
"Viva le France, viva le liberte!" he whispered excitedly. The member of the Resistance gave a relieved smile.   
  
LeBeau, after whispering the patriotic phrase, glanced around nervously. "We must leave, now, but I can give you some more details of my friend." Remembering the Colonel, he wrinkled his brow, and the corners of his mouth turned down in a worried frown. "You see, we are actually a sabatoge unit, and my friend is codenamed, `Papa Bear'..."  
  
Marie listened intently.  
  
*****************************************************************************  
After Carter mumured the words, a tapping noise came through the radio. Kinch turned his attention from the blond young man and to his speciality. As his hand hurriedly scribbled the message from London, his face fell.  
  
"Uh-oh," he stated, reading the message he had just taken.  
  
"Uh-oh?" a voice asked. Carter, who was leaning over reading the blue paper, turned to see Newkirk heading towards both the men. Kinch also looked up, a grim line on his face.  
  
"Uh-oh." He repeated. The British corporal yanked the note from Carter, who sat down heavily in a nearby chair, and began to read. He looked up when he was done and shook his head.  
  
"Bloody marvelous. The Colonel's can't help us," Newkirk's eyes shot a look towards the ladder leading to the outside world, and most importantly, Colonel Hogan, "and London needs us to do a bleedin' mission. Well, at least they haven't ordered us to pack up our operation or sent us Colonel Crittendon." Carter and Kinch looked at each other uneasily. Newkirk's sharp eyes caught the interplay, and he hesitantly asked, "You did tell London about Colonel Hogan, right?" Carter shuffled his feet, and Kinch's eyes darted to study a suddenly interesting spider web in a corner of the tunnel. "You didn't?" Newkirk's voice jumped an octave. Kinch looked guiltily at Newkirk.  
  
"Newkirk, if we did, they would send Colonel Crittendon, like you said; Colonel Hogan will get better." His eyes held his friend's, and finally Newkirk turned away, muttering in a flat voice, devoid of any humor, "I know nothing."  
  
"The great Papa Bear?" LeFaye repeated incredulously. LeBeau nodded miserably. "Why are you so sure he has something wrong with him?"  
  
"He barely talks to anyone anymore, and just sits in his room all day with the lights turned off. And he paces outside the wire-we're worried he may try something stupid," LeBeau explained.  
  
"I see," LeFaye shook her head. `The poor man...' Her thoughts were distracted suddenly as she felt the motocycle slowing. Her auburn head shot up as she saw German guards patrolling a checkpoint.  
  
"Achtung! Papers, please," a young German soldier raised his hand, motioning for them to stop.  
  
To her amazement, the man whose waist she held so tightly to pulled papers out of his pocket and showed them to the man.  
  
"And yours?" the checkpoint guard asked LeFaye pleasently. She pulled them out.  
After a moment studying them, he gave them back to her. "You are free to go," he said in a polite voice. "Heil Hitler."  
  
She replied in a steady voice, "Heil Hitler." LeBeau did likewise, and they drove off.  
  
After they reached a safe place to talk, LeBeau complimented her.  
  
"When you said `heil Hitler', it sounded realistic, and you didn't show any weakness. You're very good at not showing your feelings."  
  
"Oui, merci, Monsieur LeBeau," she thanked him. 'Comes from practice,' she inwardly thought.  
************************************************************************  
"So `ow exactly are we gonna blow the train up, Kinch?" Newkirk asked sarcastically.  
  
"Yeah, Kinch, how?" Carter asked, though his tone of voice indicated he was serious.  
  
"Alright, tomorrow night you'll go out in Gestapo uniforms, got it?" Kinch started. The others nodded. "Then, we'll say that an Underground leader we caught escaped, and we need their help. We'll leave LeBeau behind and you two will lead them on a wild goose chase for the leader. While you're doing that, LeBeau will mine the tracks with contact fuses supplied by Carter."  
  
"Hey, that's a good plan," Carter said in approval.  
  
"Thank you," Kinch replied. `I just hope it works. We need you, Colonel.'  
  
  
  
The weeks went by quickly, and Madamoiselle LeFay quickly gained the others' trust. Her first meeting with the patient, though, was rough, and she despaired after meeting him. Her mind drifting to the time, she groaned…  
  
The woman psychiatrist tried to look as disarming as possible, but still the man defiantly  
Ignored her, muttering darkly. Looking into his deep brown eyes, though, she noticed a  
hint of fear, and sunken hollows informed her of his depression.  
"I don't need a shrink." Undoubtedly frustrating, she considered it an improvement from   
what the men had told her. He noticed her, and reacted-although negatively-and any reaction  
was better than his former apathy. She hoped.  
"Colonel Hogan?" she called gently. The officer glared at her, and flopped onto a nearby   
cot.  
"Don't bother." The blunt refusal to allow her to help only made her set her jaw   
determindly.   
"I'm here to help. LeBeau-" she stopped. "And the others are worried about you.  
He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and she strained to hear. A low whispergreeted her ears.   
"I'm fine."  
Madamoiselle LeFay frowned. Of all her many patients, this man, she predicted, was going to be   
the worst.   
"Are you sure about that, Colonel? You haven't been eating well lately, nor sleeping."  
His appetite change had been noted and reported dutifully to the doctor, but she guessed about his   
brush with insomnia. From the grunt of dismissal and the uncomfortable shifting, she had been   
right.  
  
Shaking herself from the meeting, she smiled slightly. 'At least I won't have to be here long. Just some more information.'  
*********************************************************************************  
'What is wrong with you, Rob? They're worried so much they brought in some shrink… I didn't mean to make 'em worry. Just another screw-up of yours, as usual.   
Why can't you do anything right? Why do they even worry? Face it, Rob, you're worthless. They don't need you… nobody does…' 


	2. Mission: Long Story, Short Chapter

Hogan woke up from his dream, panting heavily. Looking down at his palms, he noticed they glistened with sweat. Frowning, he wiped them off on his creased pajama bottoms. Twisting at an odd angle, he managed to turn enough so that he could fluff his pillow, and lay down; he tried to fall back to sleep, but peaceful rest evaded him, and he stood up, wandering into the main portion of the barracks. Most of the prisoners were already peacefully snoring in their bunks, huddled under the thin blankets supplied by their German captives.  
Hogan, though his mind was preoccupied with his own thoughts, still noticed that his men, his first-team were missing. Wrinkling his brow, his eyes darted to their bunks to verify his worries. Kinch's, LeBeau's, Newkirk's, and Carter's bunks were all unoccupied. Thoughts of them going on a mission alone, and getting killed flooded his already unsteady confidence, and he panicked slightly. 'Just go in your room. They'll be fine.' Surprisingly, his previous apathy was replaced by genuine concern for his closest friends. Shaking his head and shuffling slowly to his room, Hogan barely noticed the rustle of papers and scrapes of furniture being moved. He did, however, noticed when a muffled sneeze emitted from the tunnel under one of the empty bunks. Hogan turned slowly and opened the tunnel. Carefully putting a foot down on the wooden rung, trying to be as stealthy as possible, the Colonel made his way down the hanging ladder.  
Among other useful talents, the officer boasted an eerie ability to walk as silent as cat's paws on carpet; his particular trait aided him in softly making his way through the tunnel system, until he came upon Madamoiselle LeFaye searching through the multiple papers lying scattered among the table used for Kinch's radio equipment.   
"What are you doing?" he quietly asked. From directly behind her, he noticed her head lift up, and she casually turned, forcing her hands to relax their nervous clenching, letting them fall naturally to her sides.  
Making her voice deliberatley smooth, she smiled at him. "I was looking for any information about your… condition," she explained gently, as if explaining something ridiculously simple to a small child.  
Hogan stared at her. All of his instincts screamed at him not to trust her, but the usually infuriating self-confidence was lacking, and he admitted that he could not trust himself anymore. 'She probably is just looking for more information. I haven't exactly been cooperative.' After a moment's hesitation, he shook himself, and nodded.  
"All right. I'll, um, see you in the morning."  
"Would you like to talk now?" the lady psychiatrist tried. Colonel Hogan glanced up and he murmured an unsure 'no.' She smiled sweetly and strode towards where her cot was. Hogan's eyes followed her for a moment, ensuring she crawled into the small folding bed, then he headed upstairs, eager for bed. The boys' secret mission completely slipped from his mind, replaced by a growing unease with the woman residing in the tunnels underneath Stalag 13.  
***************  
While this exchange was taking place at camp, near the edge of the imposing forests of Germany four shadowy figures clothed in both black sweaters and pants used as camoflauge, or the disturbing red and black of Gestapo uniforms, were quietly making their way through the dense underbrush. Though their mission was fairly routine, all of them secretly worried something would go wrong. None realized the confidence and inspiration his simple presence brought was so important, but now with the commander officer's conspicuous abscense, the worries of each of the men was almost tangible.  
"Remember Carter, let Newkirk do the talking," Kinch reminded the young blond man in front of him who was tugging at the uncomfortable stiffness of his uniform.   
"Right, Kinch," Carter nodded. Swallowing thickly, he took a deep breath, and followed "Major Newkirkson" to the road. After stealing glances to either side of the narrow road, Newkirk motioned for Carter to follow him. Suddenly Newkirk broke into a run, shouting,   
"Achtung, achtung!" at the top of his lungs. Carter followed suit, realizing what the Briton was doing.  
"Was ist los?" a German asked, jogging to meet the two saboteurs.   
"An Underground meeting! Just south of here!" Newkirk pointed in the direction the false meeting supposedly took place. "Come help me! This man will relieve your command!"   
"Nein," the guard refused.   
"I will have you shot!" Newkirk cried with his best German accent.  
"Nein, you will not." The sergeant suddenly pulled a gun on Carter and Newkirk. "Move over by the truck," he growled menacingly, motioning with the barrel of the Luger to a truck nearby. "Mach schnell!" The two captured men exchanged worried looks and meekly obeyed, each praying silently for their companions to rescue them before a street-side execution took place.  
"Uh-oh," LeBeau muttered as he watched the scene unfold.   
"C'mon. Someone must've tipped 'em off. Let's get those guys outta there and high-tail it back home. They've probably got more people comin' if they know!" Kinch ordered, pulling out his gun and checking to make sure the safety was off.  
"Drop the gun!" LeBeau pressed the barrel of his firearm into the German's back. Slowly the man dropped his gun, and raised his arm above his head. Newkirk and Carter wasted no time in joining their friends as they ran throught the woods towards Stalag 13.  
**************  
"I just can't figure out 'ow they knew," Newkirk complained once reaching the dark tunnels of the prisoner of war camp.   
"Somebody must've tipped them off. But who?" Kinch sighed, changing into his normal outfit.  
"Whoever it is, I'd like to get my hands on them, boy!" Carter said eagerly, bobbing his head up and down enthusiastically.   
"Stupid Bosche," was all the diminutive Frenchman LeBeau muttered. From around the corner, Madamoiselle LeFaye grimaced. 'How awful,' she thought to herself. Returning to her cot, she gently lay down and tried to resume her sleep. Meanwhile, the returning group made their way back to the warm beds above, anxious for sweet dreams to calm their jumpy nerves.   
"Where were you guys?" a voice interrupted the stillness of Barracks 2 as soon as Kinch raised the bunk. Searching for the owner of the voice, he quickly spotted his commanding officer.  
"Colonel Hogan? What're you doing up?" the radioman questioned incredulously. He thought for sure if the Colonel caught them he would be angry with them, but instead the man seemed curious, and-though Kinch was loath to admit it for his commander's sake-afraid.  
"I... I couldn't sleep," the man sitting at the table admitted.  
Kinch paused before answering lowly, "Uh, I just was monitoring the radio, and the others," he motioned towards Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau, who had come out to stand in a line and were now guiltily examining the floor, "came with me." He hated to lie, but under the circumstances, it seemed a wiser move than telling Hogan the real reason they were gone.  
"Oh...ok," he replied, his voice wavering slightly, sounding very much like a lost boy. Shaking his head confusedly he walked slowly to his private quarters.  
The guys left behind stared at each other uneasily. The old Colonel Hogan would NEVER have accepted such an obvious fib. Only Carter, with his childlike naivete, voiced his worries.  
"When's he gonna get better?" No one had an answer for him, though.  
***************  
Madamoiselle LeFay sat down on the cot and motioned for her patient to do likewise. Hogan obeyed, but kept his distance from the lady psychiatrist.  
"Colonel Hogan, will you please tell me what's wrong?" the woman asked desperately.   
"Nothing," he insisted, staring listelessly at the blank wall opposite of him. Guessing his weakness, she chose her words carefully.  
"You abandoned your friends." Her accusation hit home, and he flinched.  
"I didn't abandon them. I don't want to hurt them, too," Hogan unwittingly confessed.  
"Too? Who else have you hurt?"   
"Her." The man's face contorted into pain, but unlike many of the other times he had felt this kind of agony, he couldn't block it out; he couldn't ignore it; he couldn't just not think of it. This was in his mind, and a torturous disease, plaguing him mercilessly. 'Psychosomatic,' the thought came. That's what they called it when it was in your mind. He had thought it meant you were crazy if you had it. A feminine voice calling his name softly drew him back into the present, away from the confines of his mind.  
"Colonel Hogan?"  
"Hm? Yeah?" he said. Grasping the edge of the cot with white knuckles, he listened to her ask a question. "What?"  
"Who is 'her'?" she patiently repeated. He jumped up and began nervously pacing.   
"No one." Sighing deeply, LeFay rubbed her temples wearily, and briefly Hogan felt a flash of guilt for being so uncooperative, but she looked up and gave him a tight smile.  
"Perhaps we should continue tomorrow," she suggested. He nodded, and hurried back upstairs. 


End file.
